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My life is so boring now, I cannot even begin to explain.

Right now, I am avoiding the tone-deaf yowls of American Idol contestants by attempting to write you all a blog. However, the misery of daily life has overwhelmed the usual hilarity of my existence.

In the morning, I turn off my alarm clock.

In the afternoon, I wake up and get out of bed. Dress. Go to work, then come home.

After that, I get out my knitting and sit in front of the television set, watching until sleep comes, at which point I go back to my bedroom to sleep.

All this laziness has given me time to think about what one needs to achieve supreme laziness, true sloth.

One must have one's knitting. Without it, life cannot be complete. I suggest something with a simple pattern, easily memorized. I use the classic, hand-knitted sock pattern I have created which fits my foot exactly.

Food is also important. Let's assume you have a well-stocked pantry. Make blueberry muffins, some kind of stir fry, or soup. With those choices, you can continue to go back for more without having to do any more cooking. Instead, the steps needed will span only between the couch, the fridge, and the microwave. I like to eat three wimpy little dinners, allowing me to skip lunch altogether and skimp on breakfast. But you pick your on meal plan. I sometimes eat three large meals and then my two additional dinners. "Elevensies" and "Pre-dawn" are their names...

Clothing choices are vital.

You cannot, say, lay around in a turtleneck sweater. These are highly painful after a while, they create the illusion of strangulation. I cannot wear one above three hours without trauma. Still, I look good-ish in them, and wear them often. Thus Laura takes another blow for good-looks.

I like the Victoria's Secret pyjama selections. They are best. No one else makes them long enough for my freakish, spider-like legs and still skinny enough for my emaciated corpse of a physique. Plus they come in happy colors and not the sad pastels of the elderly.

Pause... My father will not stop harrassing me in his usual vengeful manner. I must state that in order for Ideal Relaxation to ensue, one must rid themself of the negative influence known as my dad. He believes I should "do something productive." When I threatened him with a blog-based outing of his cruelty, he laughed and told me I should get better material so I could be "a better blogster." Proving himself ignorant of lingo and insensitive at the same time, his speciality. What a punk. Dad, when you read this, know that I know what you're getting at. I'm not moving out. You will never get control of the remote again. Take a deep breath and start packing for that third-rate Home I saw on Sixty Minutes...

Now we get to the most important part of an evening of sloth. Television...

BLAST!

I forgot!

Apparently, network television has decided to throw all its worthwhile programing out the back door and invest it such marvelous shows as...

One versus One Hundred!

Regis and Kelly!

CSI all day, every day

If one Law and Order is good, twenty a week will be better!

Can you say..."You're FIRED!" ?

American Idol, otherwise known as...how do we create another one-hit wonder?

Reality TV, which does all it can to make life seem terrible, except model a show off my life, which would possibly have to be banned due to viewer suicide...

And the worst of the worst, the most terrible show ever made, the most shameful excuse of television choices...

DEAL OR NO DEAL!

It seems I will have to invest either all of my savings in boxed sets of television from my youth and early adolescence, which was actually good, or throw money at cable, satillite companies, you name it, just to entertain myself for an hour every night. Because, usually, that is all the time I have to place toward my own amusement.

My question is: why bother?

Just charge everyone for TV. We're Americans; we'll pay it! I SWEAR we will.Anything is better than DEAL OR NO DEAL. I mean, if I wanted to stare at a shiny bald head and a bad suit, I'd go over to the retirement home to volunteer more often. It has progressed into a kind of NBC lifeline, the only part of their network which brings in viewers. I wonder if they know that investing all the money they plan to throw at the individuals too stupid even to play the lottery in quality programming, or just spending the cash they burn outfitting those showgirls that stand there for no reason on better writers, might just save the network and put it back on top?

I would crawl, over jagged rocks, barefoot, for miles, in extreme heat or cold, just to see Monk. Tony Shaloub is amazing. Or Lost! Still my beating heart! Fish biscuits for Sawyer! Fish biscuits for EVERYONE! And to top off the glory, perhaps, maybe, an episode of The 4400! Glory be!

I could spend what meager change I can pull together on an IPOD to get these episodes quicker. But think, Laura has only dial-up. That is all she can have in the dark corner of the world where she lives. So I would spend hours, days, years to download Mr. Monk. All I can do is sit here in my chair, dreaming of the better life I could have had if I had been born into a non-literary family who accepts the inevitable pull of the cable bill.

My life is cold without Monk. I miss him the most. That sweet little man, with his perfect suits and everything put just right. His organization makes me feel the most supreme joy. That is what my room is like, my house will be like. I vaccum just as carefully, in a grid pattern. Sigh. Monk.

But I have no choice. I will take out my cold steel knitting needles and my channel changer and sit on my hard floor, watching reruns of poor television shows as I sit, making yet another sock. Tomorrow, I will do the same thing.